patterns-part of an international study of
these animals, which are threatened by
encroaching civilization.
Clinging to the ladder aloft, I looked around
and marveled at the beauty of the Arctic
under the midnight sun. The ice was bathed
in fragile pink light; frosty sea smoke hung
low over open leads, where the water shone
black. In distant bluish haze loomed Halv
mane0ya-Half-moon Island-and the steep
snow-covered mountains of Edge0ya, where
four of us would spend nearly a year ashore.
Birger handed me his binoculars. "Two
bears. They disappeared just behind the ice
berg up ahead," he said. "A sow with a cub."
I spotted them when they emerged. The
mother's rather small head swayed back and
forth on her powerful neck as she moved with
576
surprising grace across the uneven pack. For
a female, she was big-perhaps 600 pounds.
The chubby youngster trotted close behind
her. The pair seemed oblivious of our ship,
only a few hundred yards away.
"We'll catch them easily," I said. Birger
nodded and turned to the wheelhouse inter
com: "Full speed and right rudder." The rig
ging vibrated as the ship turned slowly in the
lead, cracking an ice floe under her bow.
I hurried down the ladder. Waiting on deck
were other members of our international
crew: Dr. Erickson, polar bear specialist from
the University of Minnesota, Dr. Charles
Jonkel of the Canadian Wildlife Service, and
two German wildlife photographers, Eugen
Schuhmacher and Hans Bopst, of the World
Wildlife Fund, one of our supporters.